Hiding in Plain Sight
by okydoky
Summary: When the pressures of fame become too much, Harry Potter disappears into the Muggle world, but returns to Hogwarts years later, in disguise. But Draco Malfoy is also teaching now... H/D, SLASH, MATURE, COMPLETE.


**Title: Hiding in Plain Sight.**

**Pairing(s): Harry/Draco.**

**Rating: NC-17. All characters are over the age of 18.**

**Summary: When the pressures of fame become too much, Harry Potter disappears into the Muggle world. However, when a desperate Professor McGonagall begs for his help he's dragged back to Hogwarts, for a more difficult set of circumstances than he has come across before. **

**Warnings (if any): Explicit M/M sex.**

**Disclaimer/b This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended./small**

**Beta(s)/b lj user: leelacat and lj user: lettiehatter.**

**_'Love fails, only when we fail to love./b_**_  
J. Franklin'_

"'_Harpies's Star Seeker Not Bright Enough For The Chosen One_', Harry! I can't take this anymore!" Ginny shrieked. She waved the paper under his nose before storming over to collapse onto his sofa. She threw the paper at him then folded her arms petulantly. Her tears threatened to over-spill.

Harry bent over and picked up the paper, glancing at the front page picture of Ginny talking to a man. She was standing on a Quidditch pitch, broom in one hand, the other tucking her bright red hair behind one ear. The man was her coach, and Harry was one hundred percent certain that that was all the man was. He had to admit however that the picture was incriminating. He watched as picture-Ginny tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly at her coach. A brief flicker of jealousy fired up within him, but it died down quickly.

"Ginny, I'm sorry. You know… I don't know what I can do," Harry said sadly before tossing the paper behind him. He flopped down into an arm chair and put his head in his hands, only looking up when Ginny let out a strangled, choked sob. She began to pace around the room, fidgeting, running her hands through her hair and throwing an angry glance at Harry every now and again.

She suddenly stood still and shook her head. "I can't do this, Harry. I need… I think I need to leave." Both of them knew that if Harry let her go, it would be forever.

"Ginny… you can't. Please don't leave. You're the only one that understands me… I love you…" Harry said weakly.

Ginny laughed through her tears. "You can't even say that like you mean it, Harry. I've waited and waited, but you still don't feel as much for me as I do for you. Even the papers can see it Harry, why can't you?"

Harry stood up to protest, but the glare that Ginny gave him was enough to tell him that now was not the best time to interrupt her.

"I'm not saying that I'm not good enough for you like the papers say… I'm just not the one for you, am I?" she asked.

"OK," she said. Positive she was making this statement more to herself than him, Harry remained silent. "OK. Goodbye Harry." Taking one last look at him, she Apparated with a soft pop out of his living room, and straight out of his life.

Harry sank back down into his chair in disbelief and stared into the unlit fireplace. The silence suddenly was too much. He walked to the fireplace cast "Incendio!" at the grate, and watched it burst into flames. Chucking a handful of silver Floo powder at the fire, he clambered into the emerald flames and shouted, "The Leaky Cauldron!" through the smoke. Tucking his elbows in belatedly, he spun through the fire and stumbled out into the pub.

After straightening himself up and brushing the ash off his shoulders he headed for the bar. The Leaky Cauldron was reasonably busy. It was just after six, so Harry assumed the majority of the patrons were workers from Diagon Alley, having a drink after work. He sighed. If he had realised what the time was before he left he'd have gone to a Muggle pub. The fight had obviously made him unable to think straight. He shook his head as if to shake the memories of that afternoon out of his head.

It seemed to Harry that as soon as he stepped up to the bar a space appeared. He frowned and stepped into it, looking straight ahead at the pub's owner, Tom. Hannah Abbott, from school, was behind the bar as well. She didn't see him, but as he was looking in her direction he noticed a large sign above her head.

'The Harry Potter Special: RED CURRANT RUM!

Drank here, in The Leaky Cauldron, just last month!'

Harry groaned and slammed his head on the counter.

"What can I get you, Harry my lad?" Tom beamed.

"I think this man was here before me," Harry said gloomily, pointing vaguely at the hag that was standing next to him. "Oh…" he said awkwardly. "Sorry, this woman…." He tucked his head into his chest in embarrassment only vaguely aware when the hag apologised to him, saying that she was very flattered that he had let her go in front of him in the queue. Such a i_hero/i_. Clenching his fists as he heard this, Harry shut his eyes tightly to keep from making a scene.

"Harry!" Tom said jubilantly.

Harry looked up briefly, chucking a Galleon on the bar, before his eyes flickered back down to study a particularly interesting knot in the wood. "Er… cherry brandy on ice."

"Coming right up!" Tom bustled away, hurriedly preparing his drink as Harry sat there, brooding. Harry knew that if he was in a slightly better mood he'd feel obligated to begin to chat with the people who were milling around him. There wasn't a chance in hell of that happening today.

A cherry brandy appeared in front of him and Harry grunted his thanks, not looking up to avoid giving Tom the impression that he wanted a conversation. Thankfully, Tom took the hint and walked away. Unfortunately, when Harry turned around, nearly every eye in the pub was on him.

Without saying a word Harry downed his drink. Resisting the urge to make a face at the strong taste he put the glass down and walked straight out the door.

Almost as soon as he left, Tom pulled out his wand to change the advertisement on the wall. Cherry brandy on ice replaced red currant rum as The Leaky Cauldron's bestseller within the hour.

Standing in the murky back yard of The Leaky Cauldron anger began to overcome Harry. He clenched his fists again and took a deep breath. A few minutes later, slightly calmer, he pulled out his wand and muttered to himself, as he always did, "Three up… two across" whilst he tapped the relevant bricks.

The atmosphere of Diagon Alley no longer excited Harry. Now he was an adult, he no longer desired the bustle of people and the shops which over-spilled with thousands of delicate mosquito wings, musty, dust covered books and opulent robes of every shape and colour imaginable were no longer desirable to him now he was an adult. As much as Ginny seemed to think he wasn't in love with her, the problem, to him, seemed to be that he'd fallen out of love with the whole wizarding world.

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was just across the street; Ron could always be counted on to cheer him up. He hoped he could get the first word about his and Ginny's break-up as well. Ron had been working in the joke shop on and off ever since the war, and like Harry he hadn't bothered finishing his NEWTS. Ron had always been protective of his family, but since the Battle of Hogwarts and Fred's death the entire Weasley clan had gathered around to keep George up and going. Ron helped out at the shop whenever he could and Harry knew that tonight was one of his nights.

Ten feet from the front door, a voice screeched, "Harry! My darling, how are you?"

He looked across the street to see Rita Skeeter rushing over and standing in front of him. Wearing a lurid tangerine skirt with a leopard print top, she was dressed as ridiculously as ever. Harry's eyes almost hurt to look at her.

"Rita," Harry said through his gritted teeth. He glanced at the Weasley's shop behind her and wished he'd made it to the door before he'd been cornered, or at least close enough to check whether George or Ron was there to come and rescue him. No such luck.

"So lovely to see you my dear,. How have you been? Ready to give me a juicy little scoop into that gorgeous little love nest you've got Gertie hiding in?" Jewelled golden rings on Rita's fingers clacked together as she reached into her enormous dragon skin bag to retrieve a Quick Quotes Quill and a sheath of parchment.

"It's Ginny," Harry fumed, "and no, I'm not going to give you an exclusive on anything."

Rita's eyes glittered. "Lovely," she said, "Lovely. I'm getting a rather hostile attitude off you today my dear. Are cracks appearing in your _perfect_ relationship?"

Harry tried to walk past her, but she blocked his path. He knew better by now than to talk when a Quick Quotes Quill was about. Ever since his first encounter with them in his fourth year he'd been wary, especially when in the hands of Rita Skeeter. "Leave me alone," he warned.

"Harry, my lovely, it is your _duty_ to talk to me - "

"NO!" he shouted. "IT IS NOT MY DUTY TO TALK TO ANYONE! YOU'RE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE, LEAVE ME ALONE!" With a loud crack, Harry Apparated straight out of Diagon Alley.

When he first opened his eyes he didn't have a clue where he was. The evening was drawing in and the clouds overhead were threatening to burst any minute now. He was in a park, and as he looked around he suddenly realised where he was. It had been years but Little Whinging hadn't changed one iota.

Harry stormed over to the set of swings, kicking an overflowing bin on his way. He sat down, wincing slightly as the chains dug into his thighs. Apparently, he'd grown since the last time he'd been here. The park was silent. The tiniest little sounds seemed loud. The cooing of a pigeon in tree not far away, a grasshopper in the bushes, and the kicking of his feet in the sand beneath the swing all served to temporarily distract Harry from his thoughts.

Slowly, the fight with Ginny crept back into his mind, as well as his altercation with Rita. As much as he loved Ginny, he'd quickly found that having a long term girlfriend was not what anticipated or wanted either. He knew a world without the press hounding at every opportunity was what he wanted, but how he was going to get it was a mystery.

It was over a year ago, when he and Ron had just begun their Auror training, and Hermione was taking a fast track course at Hogwarts for her NEWTs, that Harry decided to be friends with the press.

Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts he'd been constantly harassed for an interview. He always refused. He was only a tiny part of the army which had fought Voldemort. Sure he'd dealt the final blow, but the efforts of a lot of people in the war equalled, if not outweighed, his own. For that simple reason, refusing interviews had become second nature to Harry.

However, joining the Auror Department of the Ministry had meant he had made the headlines a lot more. It didn't seem to matter that Ron had joined at the same time as him, or that Ron had also not finished his NEWTs. Harry Potter automatically made the front page. Ron never even got a mention. It didn't bother him like it used to. Now, Ron took one look at the paper and snorted with laughter.

"Rather you than me, mate," Ron had said, before taking a swig of his cup of tea and turning to the sports pages.

At the beginning of the Auror course, after three weeks in a row of front page headlines, Harry decided to tackle the problem of the press head on.

With Hermione's guidance, he had contacted Witch Weekly to set up an interview. Although Harry was still very taken with The Quibbler, Hermione advised that Witch Weekly would be his best bet as nearly every witch they knew read the publication, and it was more suited to interviews.

The entire thing had been a _disaster_. A complete, unmitigated, cataclysmic disaster. When he arrived at their offices he was immediately dragged into a studio and pushed into a chair. A chubby, dark haired witch stood in front of him and cast a variety of charms over him. He hadn't a clue what the majority of them did, but an awful lot of them were directed at his hair. After the witch had pronounced him complete, as if she'd just finished decorating a cake, he was pulled into a room and manhandled into and out of a number of different outfits. The entire day was a bit of a blur to Harry, and when Ron quizzed him about it later he couldn't recall one question he'd been asked, or one outfit he'd been photographed in.

When the magazine came out a month later, Harry had almost managed to push the incident to the recesses of his mind and pretend it had never happened. But it had. He only vaguely remembered that the publication date had been mentioned.

"Harry…" Hermione had said through the fire, "the magazine is out…"

"Oh God. How bad is it?"

"That would depend on your definition of bad," Hermione admitted.

"Have you got it there?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "As soon as I got it I read it and Owled it over to you. I knew you wouldn't have bothered to get a copy," she said accusingly.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry sighed with relief. "How long is it going to be before I can leave the house?"

Hermione smiled weakly. "A week? I'm so sorry I suggested it," she said guiltily.

"Oh God," Harry whined.

"You'll be fine, Harry," Hermione reassured him. "You always are. I really am sorry."

Harry forced a smile. "Don't worry. I agreed didn't I? It'll be fine… Actually I guess I should take a look at the article before I say that."

"Mmm hmm," Hermione said awkwardly. "I should probably warn you it's slightly more than an article… You're a feature I suppose. There's quite a few pictures. They're quite flattering."

Harry groaned. "Fine… fine. I'm going to skive off training I think… I want to see this before I see anyone else."

Hermione nodded knowingly and understandingly. "Good idea. I have to go Harry… If you need to talk later, I'll make sure I'm in front of the fire at six for an hour or so, all right?"

"Thanks Hermione," Harry said gratefully. "I really appreciate it."

"Don't worry," she said with a smile. "Talk to you soon."

Harry smiled back at her, with only a hint of apprehension, and said his goodbyes. It couldn't be as bad as she said. Hermione did have a tendency to exaggerate. He was going back to bed.

Harry awoke to an owl tapping at his window. He groaned, at his second rude awakening of the morning, and at the thought of what he was going to have to deal with now the article had been released. He got out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt before he went over to the window. As he opened it, a breeze came through, and he was very glad for his t-shirt.

"Thank you," he said to the Hogwarts owl which Hermione had sent. It hooted at him as he took its package, then spread its wings and flew off into the distance.

Stressed, Harry ran a hand through his hair and then sat down heavily upon his bed. Ripping open the seal roughly, he pulled the magazine out and whimpered as he saw the front cover which pronounced him: 'The Hottest Hero the Wizarding World Has Ever Seen!'.

There he was, dressed to the nines in some ridiculously tight Muggle jeans, his hair artfully styled, and was that eyeliner around his eyes? Oh God it was awful. He was half-naked on the front page of Witch Weekly. He doubted it anyone would care that he was edging his way out of the picture, only to be shoved back in by the editor. Why, oh why did he keep biting his lip like that, and running his hand through his hair?

He flicked to the middle spread, where there were still more pictures of him walking out of the frame. Even though he was fully clothed, somehow, all of that witch's charms made him look like he'd just fallen out of bed after a fantastic shag.

The interview wasn't as bad as it could be. Only a few bits had been manipulated. The interview, of course, very much focused on how much he was loved throughout the Wizarding world, but as far as he could tell, there were no outstanding, obvious lies and he supposed that was something. But, oh God… the pictures.

The week after the magazine had been published all hell had broken loose. Harry had had to have all of his post redirected and sorted away from his home after the first week after the magazine had been published. Just in that first week, he'd been sent forty-one boxes of Love Potion tainted chocolates, had seventeen marriage proposals, and twenty-nine naked photographs of witches _and _wizards.

At work he'd had to be taken off patrolling duty in the various wizarding towns around Britain after his patrol in Hogsmeade had unfortunately coincided with the weekend visit from Hogwarts. Ron, the bastard, had just laughed as Harry had been chased all the way down the main street. All the extra attention however, was not conducive to going unnoticed and catching criminals, so, Harry had been relegated to more desk work while the rest of the trainees got to run about the country, saving Kneazles from trees and the other menial things trainees did. It went without saying that he hated and resented it.

Ever since the article had appeared, Harry had been given a number of different 'awards' by the women's magazine he'd grown to hate. Ron had found some sort of perverse amusement in the fact that Harry took Gilderoy Lockhart's former title of 'Most Charming Smile' as well as the newly formed 'Hero of the Year'.

As he sat, remembering, a loud shout from somewhere in the housing estate jerked Harry back to the present. His stomach rumbled, but the noise and funny feeling in his stomach only reminded him of food. And food reminded him of the embarrassment he'd endured, just a couple of months ago, when he'd turned up to work only to be teased for three full weeks for the headline of 'The Harry Potter Corned Beef Sandwich Special', complete with pictures of him eating a corned beef sandwich. He'd kicked a lot of walls that day.

His stomach rumbled again and he decided that it couldn't be ignored. He didn't want eat alone at home so he decided to look for a corner shop. He vaguely remembered the nearest one to the Dursleys's house and thought he'd be able to get a sandwich from there.

He stood up, shoved his hands deeply into his jean pockets, and walked across the park straight into the housing estate. A group of skinhead boys sauntered past, giving Harry a quick look up and down. Harry smiled ruefully, remembering the days when Dudley used to be one of them. If Harry was honest with himself he wouldn't be surprised if he still was.

Before he knew it, Harry was standing in front of Number 4 Privet Drive. While he walked the sun had almost fully set and the clouds had cleared, leaving the sky a gorgeous shade of red. Harry was reminded of a rhyme Mrs. Figg had taught him when he'd commented on the sky as a young lad: r_ed sky at night, shepherd's delight, red sky in morning, shepherd's warning._ He smiled and wondered how close to the Dursley's he could get without being spotted. It then occurred to him to use a Disillusionment Charm which he quickly did, before he snuck (unnecessarily) up to the window. He had no desire to speak to them, or to make any form of contact, but there was something oddly comforting about knowing they were all right.

He stood right in front of the living room window and looked in. There they were. Aunt Petunia was sitting in an arm chair, her eyes glued to EastEnders. Uncle Vernon was sipping a glass of scotch in the chair next to hers, his feet up on a stool. The only thing that surprised him about the scene was the two people sitting upon the couch. Dudley, large as ever, and a girl, who Harry unfortunately had to admit was of a similar size to Dudley. They looked so happy. He had his arm around her, she had her hand on his knee, and they both had contented smiles on their faces. In that moment, jealousy overtook Harry with such force it left him breathless.

The next morning, when Harry was safely locked up in his flat, ignoring the tapping at the window from an owl which he knew would carry the newspaper detailing his outburst at Rita Skeeter, Harry decided to leave the Wizarding World behind to try and find a simpler life.

**POTTER MANIA: A STEP TOO FAR?**

The Wizarding World's favourite hero has not been seen in public for nearly three months. In the beginning many people thought our dear Harry was simply taking a step out of the limelight, and attending his Auror training in secrecy.

However, it appears that since the break up of his relationship with the youngest member of the Weasley family, Ginerva Weasley, Harry has disappeared. Clearly devastated by the dissolution of his relationship with his childhood sweetheart, it appears Harry has been unable to continue to be around anything which reminds him of his red headed ex.

After months of speculation, his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley have released a statement; "It is true that Harry is no longer part of the wizarding community. We do not know where he is, and Harry, if you're reading this, we would love for you to get in contact with us."

Please see:

Pages 4-5 for our Potter expert's theories on his whereabouts.

Page 6-7 for a re-cap of Harry Potter's amazing success over You-Know-Who.

Page 8 for an update on the national cherry brandy shortage.'

The quote from Hermione and Ron was a lie, pure and simple. They were pretty much the only ones who knew where he was. Harry got news on all his old friends from them through weekly chats, and when people asked, Hermione and Ron filled people in on how he was, just not where.

He was in Loughborough, a small university town in the midlands. Harry was fairly certain that during the university term there were more students than other residents of the town. For him, it was perfect - It was busy enough to satisfy his boredom, and near enough to the bigger cities if he needed. But the best part? Harry was almost one hundred percent sure that he was the only wizard within a good few miles, and he loved it. He felt free.

Harry wasn't a particularly fussy person. In fact as soon as he'd seen the town he'd loved it, although it wasn't his favourite place he'd visited. Stratford-upon-Avon was the most gorgeous town he'd ever seen, but it was full to the brim with wizards gathering at the birth place of the 15th century wizard, Shakespeare. So Loughborough it was, with all its tiny streets and lack of men's clothing shops.

He had bought a nice house in one of the quieter neighbourhoods, complete with fireplace so he could talk to Hermione and Ron every few days. Over the next few years this was a habit he kept to rigidly.

Squished up in the corner of a couch, reading the newspaper, Harry didn't notice Hermione's face appear in the fire. For all he knew she could have been there hours before he heard her, although he trusted her not to invade his privacy by spying on him like that.

"Harry," she called.

Harry looked up with a start and grinned as he saw the familiar face.

"Hermione!" he said as he settled down in front of the fire. "How are you?"

"Fantastic," she said with a smile. "Ron and I are having a few problems with caterers at the moment. Molly is insistent that we let her do it, but it's not fair on her… We want her to enjoy the day as well, and not worry about any issues with the food."

Harry nodded knowingly along to her as she spoke. "Couldn't you try to distract her away from it, or something? Let her… I dunno, do the rehearsal dinner or… the decorations in the tent?"

"Marquee," Hermione corrected absently. "That's not a bad idea though, Harry. We aren't having a rehearsal dinner. It's just not done at wizard weddings, and I'm not overly fussed, but distracting her is a good idea… Maybe she could do the cake."

"I'm sure she will be fine with that. You know what she's like. She just wants to be included and it is the first wedding she's had since the war," Harry added. "She just wants to celebrate."

"I know, Harry," she sighed. "I know. We'll work something out I'm sure. Anyway, how has your week been?"

"It's not been too bad," he said. "Not amazing but not awful. Going into town tomorrow night though, so that should be fun."

"Oooh," Hermione said. "That will be good. Are you going with people from work?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah it's just the usual lot, it's their last year this year so we figure we might as well make the most of it while we still can."

"That sounds good Harry; I know you have some good nights out when you're there."

Harry blushed. If he was honest with himself, some of the nights out he had were more than good, and if Hermione knew their full extent she would be scandalised, while Ron would be proud. As it turned out the next night was going to be another one of those.

: :

Harry heard a brief knock at the front door as he left the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing at his wet hair with another. He knew who it was, and he knew that they had no qualms about walking straight through his front door either.

He heard the familiar click of the door opening, Jade calling up the stairs. "Oh, Harrrrrrrrrrry."

"You're early," he shouted.

"Need to get started already," she yelled back. He heard some bags clinking with bottles and smiled.

"You do that. I'll be down in ten minutes or so," he called back. "Is Toby with you?"

"Nah, he just texted me; he's running late. I'm the girl here, and I'm the only one ready! Oh, the irony!"

Harry flung open his wardrobe doors and stood in front of it for a minute. "Jade, what should I wear?" He heard a laugh from downstairs, and then someone bounding up the stairs before his workmate appeared at the door, posing in the frame.

"What do you think?" she said, with a pout.

"Gorgeous," he laughed. "Now me?"

Harry had was a hit among the other staff his age at the art shop on the high street. They were mostly student working part time and were very keen on helping him live the student life – with no actual studying. Although Harry was pretty sure the majority of them didn't do much studying either.

Tonight he was going into town with Jade and Toby, two of the part-time assistants who lived together in one of the student housing. Harry had learnt early on that when he did the three of them went out, they ended up… rather messy to say the least.

Once he'd been dressed by Jade, they went downstairs to find Toby, a tall blond lad, collapsed on the sofa in front of the fire.

"Hello," Jade said. "Where did you appear from?"

"Sainsbury's," he grunted. "Had to get some cash out as well."

Jade flipped her mahogany hair over her shoulder as she sat down on the floor, pulling a bottle of vodka out the bag. Toby nodded when he saw the bottle, "Six quid, Sainsbury's?"

"You know it. The very best in petrol masquerading as vodka," she said with a wink.

Harry laughed and pushed Toby's feet off the end of the sofa. "What are you drinking?" he asked.

"Strongbow," Toby replied, pulling a six pack out of the distinctive orange carrier bag. He pulled back the ring pull and grinned when it made a satisfying hissing noise. Taking a sip he advised Harry that it was, "Bloody excellent cider."

"Very good choice," Harry said with a nod. "I myself have some in the fridge."

"In the fridge?" Jade said with a mock gasp. "What's it doing in there?"

Harry grinned and went into the kitchen, returning with a large bottle. He waved it at Toby and Jade, who declared that now, it was a party.

"I think I'm drunk," Harry slurred, four hours later. They had been in the club for an hour and a half by now. Toby had disappeared almost as soon as they had arrived. He never had trouble finding a girl to spend the evening with. Usually their nights out ended with Harry and Jade in a pizza shop, before they stumbled back to his house. Jade always slept on the couch, but Harry had a tendency to sleep in the oddest places. He never forgot the morning he awoke because Jade had to jump over him on the stairs to get to the bathroom.

Jade started giggling. "Of course you're drunk, darling. It's a Friday night!"

The vibrating of the bass pounded out of the enormous speakers, going right through Harry.

"I'm going to get a drink," Harry decided.

"OK," Jade yelled. "I'm going to the loo… I'll come and find you in a bit!" She gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before she wandered off into the throngs of people.

Shaking himself in a bid to dispel some of the fuzziness which had filled his head, he walked towards the bar, carefully avoiding the tipsy dancers standing nearby. He weaved himself into the queue for the bar, trying to push himself as far to the front as he could, as he did want a drink within the next half an hour.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Harry said as he felt himself stand on someone's foot.

"Don't worry," a deep voice said.

Harry forced himself to look up from the floor where he was trying to discern which foot he had stood on. His eyes skimmed over long legs in dark jeans and a tight red t-shirt and up to the face which that lovely voice had come from. The face was quite a lovely face as well, Harry decided.

"I'm Matt," the man said and held out his hand. Harry was surprised by the gesture, but shook the hand. Nice and strong, he noticed dimly. Matt smiled at him, and Harry gave a shy smile back.

"Harry," Harry said with a blush. "Let me… let me buy you a drink. To apologise for your foot."

With a soft laugh, Matt told him, "It doesn't matter. My foot's fine, you're hardly heavy. But I never turn down a drink from a good looking man," and he winked.

Harry smirked at him slightly and nodded. "What are you having then?"

"A pint, please."

A space opened up in front of him, and Harry slid into it, with Matt close behind. Harry could feel the other man pressed up against his side and leaned into it slightly. The motion obviously served as a hint to Matt, who put his hand on Harry's waist, pinning him to the bar. The barmaid stood in front of Harry who ordered promptly, pulling a crumpled up note out of his pocket. The two men took their drinks and Harry smiled. It had been a while since Harry had met anyone he was attracted to this much and even longer since he had felt comfortable enough to pursue it.

Since being in Loughborough and the experiencing the freedom which accompanied it, Harry had realised that he was attracted to men as well as women. However, more often and not he was finding himself wanting to take a man home rather than a woman. Taking someone home from a club wasn't a common occurrence for Harry though. A couple of times they had been one offs, a few had lasted a month or so, but never anything particularly substantial.

"Want to come and sit down for a bit?" Matt asked. Harry nodded happily, and followed Matt over to the other side of the club where there were a few seats free.

Harry sat down onto the sofa, making sure there was enough room for Matt to squeeze in next to him. Matt did so, putting an arm over the back of the sofa. They began to exchange the usual pleasantries for a few minutes before Harry noticed that a hand was now on his thigh, and slowly moving up. The club may have been dark, but Harry knew well enough that they were unlikely to get away with very much at all in a place like this.

Moving his lips towards Matt's ear he whispered, "I want to kiss you… but we should leave here first."

Harry was amazed at how fast the gorgeous blue eyes dilated and before he knew it he was being pulled up off the sofa with a growl and dragged out of the club. Looking round wildly on his way out he managed to catch Toby's eye. Toby raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded. Harry knew that now Toby knew he had left he would keep an eye on Jade and at least stick her in a taxi. But that thought was quickly dispelled from his mind as he heard the bouncer say good night to them on the way out the club.

They stopped around the corner, and Harry was finally able to get a good look at Matt under the light of the street lamps. He was tall, at least 6'3" Harry guessed. Harry himself had not ended up particularly short at 6 foot exactly, but Matt seemed to tower over him. He had sandy blond hair which had looked darker in the club, although Harry wasn't complaining as he had a thing for blonds. Harry couldn't stop looking at his piercing blue eyes either.

"Do I get a kiss now?" Matt asked.

Harry grinned. "Well… if you can wait two minutes, my house is just around the corner."

Growling again, Matt nodded, and they walked in silence down the streets. Harry was exceedingly aware of how fast his heart was beating in his chest, and that his palms were starting to sweat slightly. He wiped his hands in what he hoped was a discreet manner down his trousers –he hated sweaty palms.

Harry went up the stairs to his front door, Matt was on his heels, hands on Harry's waist, lips on Harry's neck. Harry fumbled with his keys, unable to do it properly. Eventually, he got the key in the lock, only to find he couldn't turn it properly, and wandlessly opened the door. He took the key out, and the two men fell into the house, unable to take their hands off one another. The door shut with a bang.

"Will we wake anyone up?" Matt asked, as Harry pulled off his t-shirt.

"No," Harry replied as he took his own top off, and pulled Matt down to kiss him, finally, fucking finally. Harry slipped his tongue between Matt's lips, deepening the kiss as he slid his arms around Matt's neck. He could feel Matt's cock hard against his knee, and knew his own was in a similar state, Matt moved up against his leg, gasping into his mouth.

Harry pulled away momentarily and standing on his tiptoes, rested his forehead on Matt's. "Upstairs?" he asked, staring into bright blue, severely dilated eyes. Matt nodded. Harry took him by the hand and pulled him up the stairs, losing belts and shoes on the way.

As soon as they got into the bedroom, Harry pulled down Matt's trousers and pushed him onto his bed. As ever, his bedroom was a tip, he thought as he tripped over a towel he'd left on the floor. He looked at the nearly naked man lying down on his bed, propped up on his elbows, staring at him with lust and smiled predatorily.

"Come here," Matt said.

Harry raised his eyebrows and took of his glasses and placed them very deliberately on the chest of drawers behind him. "Patience," Harry chided. He slowly took his jeans off as well, folding them before he put them down. He then heard the growl he had been waiting for, and moved onto the bed. Harry's heart was pounding in anticipation for the release sex brought him and the control it gave him. It was such a rush.

He straddled Matt's hips, running his hands up and down lightly muscled arms. Matt's hands immediately began to roam Harry's body, his fingers threading through the small expanse of hair on his chest, tweaking at Harry's nipples and teasing at the trail of hair that lead beneath his boxers.

Collapsing on the bed next to Matt afterwards, Harry kissed him once more before burying himself within the quilt. He never knew what to do or say after having sex with someone.

Matt moved around and Harry turned over to look at him.

"Stay if you like," Harry said quietly.

Matt smiled in the darkness. "I think I will, won't be able to get a taxi at this time… Err, where's the toilet?"

"Door next to this," Harry said with a yawn.

"Thanks," Matt replied and he wandered out the room, pulling his boxers on as he went, but not before Harry managed to have a look at the nice arse he had just been in. Harry was fast asleep before Matt returned.

Harry woke up with a very heavy head the next morning. He didn't know why he was awake, he could see through a gap in the curtains that the sun hadn't fully risen yet, and he was definitely still tired. Stretching out slightly, his foot kicked warm flesh, and then it all came rushing back. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to remember what happened. Thinking back it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but the man was still in his bed… Harry hated the awkward conversations the next morning.

"You awake?" A voice whispered.

Oh fuck. "Yeah," Harry said back, and reluctantly turned over.

He was pleasantly surprised at how good looking the lad was, he hadn't been wearing his beer goggles as much as he thought. It had happened once before and had put him off meeting potential dates while drunk for quite a while. "Hi," Harry said.

Matt smiled. "Hi. Is it OK if I get a glass of water?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Thanks. You want one?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, thanks that would be great." His tongue did feel like sandpaper now he thought about it. Lovely. Tasted like he'd been eating Kneazle litter as well.

Maybe last night wasn't as much of a disaster as he'd feared.

: :

In fact, that one night turned into a fun couple of months, before both men decided to call it quits for no reason other than it just wasn't working anymore; the spark had gone.

Once the relationship was over, Harry was restless. He'd liked having a boyfriend, the thought of someone being there for him unconditionally, all the time. He was mulling over the pathetic state of his love life when a head popped up in his fire.

"Ron," Harry said warmly, sinking down onto the floor in front of the fire. "How are you?"

"Good mate, good thanks. You all right?" Ron asked, rubbing at his nose.

"Yeah not bad… bored as fuck," Harry laughed bitterly.

Ron snorted. "I'd give anything to be bored. Work is getting right on my arse at the moment, and Hermione is as stressed as anything about this bloody wedding," he said.

Harry snickered. That sounded just like the Hermione he knew and loved. "It'll be over soon, mate," Harry said. "She'll be back to normal before you know it."

"As normal as she gets you mean," Ron said cheekily.

Harry held up his hands. "You said it not me."

"Hmm...," Ron said. "How's work?"

"Fine," Harry replied with a wave of his hand. "I was offered the assistant manager position again."

"That's great!" Ron enthused. "Are you going to take it this time?"

"I haven't accepted it," Harry said awkwardly. "I dunno if I want it."

"Why wouldn't you want it?" Ron sounded rather confused.

"I don't want to work in that shop for the rest of my life, I've already been there four fucking years," he said, laughing slightly hysterically. "It's just everything's changed. Matt's gone, and so have Jade and Toby, they were in their last year at uni and have moved back home. I just… I dunno."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "That's shit mate. Is there no chance of you and that bloke…"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, I don't want to anyway, but he was here, and now he's not at the same time as everything else, and it's just a bit shit at the moment."

"Well…" Ron said, "What are you going to do?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't got a fucking clue."

"Tough break mate," Ron said. "Tough break."

Didn't Harry fucking know it?

: :

"No fucking way."

"Mr Potter!"

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

Just one day after he spoke to Ron concerning his lack of enthusiasm for his job at the moment, this happened. It wasn't a coincidence, no chance. For one thing, Hermione and Ron were the only ones who knew the address to Floo to talk to him, so it had to be one of them who revealed his address to McGonagall.

"Is your Muggle life fulfilling enough for you, Potter?" Professor McGonagall said, peering at him over her glasses.

"Look," Harry said, "I don't know what Ron has said to you, but I'm fine. Really." He knew he didn't sound convincing in the slightest. His life wasn't fulfilling, but he didn't want to be at Hogwarts either. How could ihe/i be a Professor?

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said reprovingly, "think about it seriously. The students of Hogwarts need you, as I've told you. If you can think of any way in which you can take up this position, please get in touch. There are only two weeks before the start of term…"

Harry nodded. "I'm not promising anything. But I'll think it over tonight and send my word tomorrow. Is that acceptable?" Harry was aware that he was acting quite childishly, but at this point he didn't care; he was fuming.

"Thank you, Potter. I look forward to hearing from you."

Harry nodded again and Professor McGonagall disappeared from his fireplace. As soon as she did he let out a groan and staggered to his feet. Harry walked to the kitchen quickly, kicking the door as he passed. Pulling a half full bottle of whiskey and a glass out of the cupboard, he poured out an inch of the amber then downed it in one, which was quickly followed by another. Pouring a third glass, fuller than the rest, Harry went back into the living room, fully intent on spending the rest of the evening brooding.

But as he sat down, he found his mind drifting to Hogwarts, rather than stewing in his own anger. Would it really be so bad to be back there? It was the first place he had called home and he had so many fantastic memories of being there as well. Plus, his experience instructing the DA had been amazing; he had loved every minute.

On the other hand, he'd be in the public eye again, which he was desperate to avoid.

Harry took a sip of his whiskey and swirled it around the glass, noticing a smudge on the rim. It was at that moment, when he realised his life had become so dull that he was noticing the smudges on his glassware, that he decided he needed a change. And a major one at that.

He looked at his wand which was balanced on top of the fireplace. Maybe there was a way he could do it. Maybe nobody had to know he was there.

But first, he had to have a word with Ron.

: :

One week later, Harry had finished his one week's notice at the art shop, put his house up for rent and was at Hogwarts. It had taken a lot of persuasion, but Harry managed to convince McGonagall to agree to let him teach under a fake name, a fake life and most importantly a new face. Much to his annoyance, he knew it was necessary that someone knew what he was doing, so, against his better judgement, he had again told Ron and Hermione where he was.

Going up the steps to the front doors of Hogwarts and walking through the familiar corridors to the Headmistress's office he had known he made the right choice in coming back. Harry hadn't realised how much he'd missed the smell of the grounds, the constant quiet chatter in the hallways from the portraits or the breeze which made socks a permanent requirement.

Once Harry had managed to get over his anger at Ron for telling Professor McGonagall where he was, he'd found it very easy to imagine himself back at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had asked him to come to the school a week before the term started so he would have time to settle in and so he would be able to attend various faculty meetings that took place before the Autumn term began. As soon as he had decided to go back – and probably before if he was honest with himself – he had been imagining what Glamour he would use and what his name would be.

Would he choose to have dark hair still, or go for a total change? Did he want to stand out and have bright red hair like Ron, or blonde hair like Malfoy? Harry was almost one hundred percent sure he'd stick with dark hair, if for no other reason than to blend in. One thing he knew he'd have to change was the colour of his eyes. Witch Weekly had declared his eyes his best feature on more than one occasion. Harry didn't get it… they were just green. In his head he had a pretty good picture of the person he was going to be for the next year. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular man, not too tall, not too short, no immediately distinguishing features. Harry was quite excited about the prospect of being able to live the life he would have had if Voldemort had not been part of his life.

Early in the morning, he arrived at Hogwarts, still himself. As soon as he entered, a house elf scooted up to him and took his trunk straight out of his hands. Harry knew that there were no classes on at the moment so there would be little chance of him being seen. Not that it would matter anymore if Harry Potter was seen one last time – it would at least end the rumours that he was dead. However, when he arrived at the gargoyle, which had been painstakingly repaired after it had been destroyed in the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry was glad he hadn't been seen.

"Liquorice wands," Harry said. He thought it was a really nice reminder of Dumbledore that McGonagall had left the passwords as different types of sweets.

The gargoyle leapt aside and the wall split in two to reveal the spiralling staircase up to Professor McGonagall's office. Once he reached the top, Harry knocked on the door and was almost immediately greeted with a "Come in!" from Professor McGonagall.

The Headmistress's office had changed quite a great deal from when Dumbledore used it. The high backed chair behind the desk had been replaced with a hard looking, tartan covered arm chair. The desk, once reasonably messy, was immaculate, as was the rest of the office. It reflected Professor McGonagall's personality, as Dumbledore's had been a reflection of him – pure eccentricity. Harry's eyes flicked up to the portraits crowding the walls, and noted fondly that Dumbledore was snoring lightly.

"Good morning, Harry," Professor McGonagall said warmly.

Harry sat down into the uncomfortable chair in front of the desk. "Good morning," he said.

"I'm surprised you didn't apply your disguise before you came here," she admitted.

Harry shrugged. "I figured it would be OK. It's early." If he was honest with himself, he'd wanted one walk through Hogwarts as himself as well.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "If you would like to apply your Glamour we can go through your story. I don't think you will be under very much pressure in regards to your story but it will need to remain cohesive, as I'm sure you realise."

"I know," Harry agreed. He stood up and pulled his wand out of his pocket. Harry had never taken Moody's warnings about blasting a buttock off seriously. It wasn't like that iactually/i happened was it? Harry chanted the charm which he had been learning for the last week, moving his wand in an intricate pattern and picturing the guise which he was to take on. A couple of minutes later, Harry lowered his wand. Professor McGonagall conjured a mirror for him.

The person in the mirror was definitely not Harry Potter anymore. His hair had lightened to a nondescript brown, his eyes were no longer brilliant green, but a warm brown. He had moulded his features slightly so the angles were different to that of Harry Potter's, and his scar was gone, leaving his forehead tanned, smooth and unblemished. He had decided against changing his height or body type – he felt there was no need, robes concealed a lot.

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. With a flick of her wand the mirror disappeared and Harry sat back down.

"Well, Professor Sebastian Griffiths," Professor McGonagall said, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Harry grinned. "Thank you very much, Professor."

"Please, Sebastian," she said. "Call me Minerva."

: :

It didn't occur to Harry that he had no idea who he would be working with all year until he was settled in his rooms on the first floor.

The suite he was in was relatively big. He had a large bedroom and living room which adjoined onto his office. The classroom which he would be teaching was just down the corridor; Harry planned to go and prepare it the next day. He also had to sit down and have a thorough read of the book which had been set for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Glancing at it briefly, he had surmised that it was quite useless, but he was going to have to do the best he could with what he was given.

Professor McGonagall had given him the lesson plans from the Professor who had taught last year, and Harry had decided to follow those for the first few weeks while he found his feet. After that he hoped to come up with his own plans which he planned to tailor to the age of the students he was teaching. At the moment, all the lesson plans seemed very similar, and very vague. Useless, except as a reasonable stepping stone, and a guide to how much the students already knew.

After that though, he was on his own. However, one positive element to having six different Defence Against the Dark Arts professors over his school career was that he had a lot of experience, not all bad. He'd observed the atrocious techniques his teachers had used and knew to avoid letting Cornish Pixies get loose in his classroom like Lockhart and he knew not to only teach the theory side of things like Umbridge had. And there was of course the bits from Lupin and even Snape if he was honest with himself which he could perhaps borrow as well.

Harry soon realised that he had been sitting thinking in his living room for quite a while now, and he had missed dinner and would soon be late for the staff meeting. Harry's stomach rumbled and he groaned. He was going to have to put up with the growling noises of his stomach all the way through the meeting. What a fantastic first impression people would have, he thought, running his hand through his hair nervously. He rummaged through a drawer in his desk for some parchment and a quill and tucked them into his voluminous robes just in case, and left, almost at a run.

Arriving down at the Entrance Hall, he was only slightly out of breath; it wasn't too far for a power walk after all. Catching his breath for a minute, Harry moved his hand up to flatten his hair before realising it wasn't necessary anymore. He grinned ruefully at his hand before opening the heavy wooden door to the side of the Great Hall.

As Harry walked through the door, he felt every eye in the room upon him, although not all of the teachers were there yet. He smiled shyly and blushed slightly before he sat in the first available chair, which happened to be next to Madam Hooch.

"Rolanda Hooch," she said sticking out her hand out. He took it gratefully for a brief shake.

"Sebastian Griffiths," he said smiling.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts?" she asked, even though it must have been plainly obvious, as it was the only teaching that had been open.

"Yeah," Harry said. He paused for a moment before he belatedly realised he wasn't supposed to know what she taught either. "How about you?" he asked awkwardly.

He really hadn't thought this through. Professor Flitwick had been his professor for years, just as Hooch had been his flying instructor. How was he going to pretend that he didn't know them at all?

"Quidditch," she told him proudly. Her yellow eyes glinted slightly as the door opened once more, and a couple more teachers filtered into the room, taking up all but one of the remaining seats. After brief introductions to the rest of the staff – Harry was very glad the faculty of Hogwarts was a small one – he sussed out that the only teacher remaining was the Potions professor.

The teachers sat, talking amongst themselves for a few more minutes and Harry drifted in conversation after conversation blindly before he heard;

"… bloody Malfoy, late again…"

Harry's head whipped round to the owner of the voice, who took no notice of him at all. He turned to look at Hooch.

"Did she say Malfoy?" Harry said under his breath.

"She did," Hooch said suspiciously. "Why?"

"N- no reason," Harry said, inwardly cursing himself for reacting. He was going to have to get better at this, fast.

"Look," Hooch said. "I know a lot of people have heard a lot about the Malfoys, but Minerva trusts him, and that's good enough for me. He's done fantastic things with the Potions curriculum apparently, and he's more than made up for behaving like a spoilt brat during the war. All right?"

She sounded very protective of Malfoy, Harry noted. He schooled his features into a neutral expression. He couldn't very well scowl could he? Sebastian Griffiths knew very little but the published version of the Battle of Hogwarts, and had no particular reason to hate ithis/i Malfoy.

Harry nodded at Hooch. "Yeah… sorry." He sunk down into his chair slightly, before the door flew open and Draco Malfoy rushed through.

Turning around to take a look at the man who had just thrown himself into the chair next to his, Harry was struck by how much Malfoy had changed since the last time they had been face to face. It had been at Malfoy and his mother's trial, all those years ago. Even then they hadn't spoken; Malfoy had simply sat there, with his hands in his lap and his eyes permanently downcast. Once Harry had finished his testimony he had left, and had only thought of Malfoy once since then, and that had been when Hermione informed him that both Narcissa and Malfoy had been acquitted, although heavily fined. Lucius Malfoy had not been so lucky and was in Azkaban. Then, Malfoy had been a skinny, sickly looking boy who needed to put on some weight and losing the hair gel. Now, the Malfoy in front of him was a man, and quite an attractive one at that. He had grown into his face, although he was still a pointy git, and had finally lost the tub of hair gel. He had also grown a couple of inches and filled out nicely, like nearly everyone Harry had known when he was at school.

Malfoy was still looking flustered as Professor McGonagall cleared her throat to call order to the meeting. Harry pulled out his slightly crumpled up parchment and bent quill. Malfoy glanced over and snorted. Harry repressed a surge of annoyance. God, he thought, Malfoy might look different but he hasn't changed at all.

"Our first order of business," McGonagall announced, "is to introduce our newest member of staff, Sebastian Griffiths, who is taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts. You will all of course have a chance to get to know him over the year, but I am personally very grateful to him for joining us so late."

Harry smiled and gave a little wave which drew a few chuckles from a couple of professors. Harry was very aware of Malfoy rolling his eyes.

Professor McGonagall began to speak again. "I would like to go through the procedure for the Opening Feast if that is all right with everyone."

Everyone in the room knew this was not actually an option.

"Draco here has offered to greet the First Years in the Entrance Hall after Hagrid has brought them over the lake. Are there any offers from anyone to lead the rest of the years into the Great Hall?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Hooch coughed. "I will, Minerva."

"Thank you, Rolanda. Are there any other volunteers?"

Professor Sprout nodded that she would assist as well. Harry felt slightly bad, but he was going to try and keep as low a profile as possible.

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall said. "I would also like to confirm, for Professor Griffiths's benefit, who the Heads of Houses will be. Professor Sinistra will be Head of Ravenclaw; Professor Sprout is Head of Hufflepuff. Professor Lewis will be Head of Gryffindor, and Professor Malfoy is Head of Slytherin."

Harry was slightly shocked, but he tried not to show it. Malfoy was certainly not keeping a low profile within the school by the looks of it. Jotting the names down quickly, he tried his best to pay attention as his stomach growled, and Malfoy launched into a long speech about his latest changes to the Potions curriculum.

The meeting had been going for an hour and a half now, and Harry was bored. In addition to this, he was ridiculously hungry. No one had heard his stomach growling yet but unless he got out soon, it was only a matter of time. He'd been pressing his hand against his stomach for the last hour, for some reason it seemed to alleviate the ache.

Malfoy kept shooting him looks that clearly meant he thought Harry was insane. It was as if he didn't have a Glamour on at all, and he pulled a hair out of his head unobtrusively. Still brown, he was still Sebastian not Harry. The Glamour he had chosen would wear off after about four hours, he'd refreshed it as he'd hurried down to the meeting, so was actually covered for a good two hours yet.

Harry picked up his quill and began to twirl it in his fingers. The Arithmancy Professor was talking, and Harry didn't have a clue what was being said. Malfoy had taken almost an hour to complete his speech, and now the rest of the teachers were trying to speed through their own. If there was one thing Harry could say about Malfoy, it was that he was very passionate about Potions.

Drifting in between day dreams of Shepherd's Pie, Roast Beef and chocolate cake, Harry barely heard the meeting being called to an end. Just as Professor McGonagall began to wish everyone luck for the upcoming year, Harry felt it brewing. The biggest stomach growl in history. There was no stopping it, as it rang through the room, loud and clear.

The sound stopped everyone in their tracks. Professor McGonagall stopped talking. Malfoy began to snicker. Harry went bright red.

"Missed dinner did we, Sebastian?" Malfoy whispered as Professor McGonagall resumed speaking.

Harry nodded blankly. Malfoy snickered again.

The other teachers began to move from their seats and Harry hurriedly stood up, shoving his parchment and quill into his robes. He had almost left the room when he felt a hand on his elbow, pulling him back.

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked at him very strangely. "Err… yes. You can call me Draco though. Do you want me to show you where the kitchens are?"

Harry had forgotten he didn't know his way around. "Oh… err… yes. Thank you, that would be … err… nice."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry resigned himself to the fact that Draco thought he was slightly insane. "Indeed."

The two men left the room. Harry let Draco walk half a step ahead so it looked as if Harry was following.

"Have you worked at Hogwarts long?" Harry asked.

"A few years, yes. This will be my fourth actually. My first as a Head of House though, it's quite nice to be doing something a bit different. A bit more challenging. Have you taught before?"

Thinking back to Dumbledore's Army, Harry decided that it didn't really count. "No, I haven't actually. I'm a bit out of practise to be honest," he laughed.

"You weren't at Hogwarts were you?" Draco asked abruptly.

"N-no," Harry stuttered.

Draco nodded. "I thought not. I'm sure I would have remembered you if you were." If Harry had been talking to anybody but Draco Malfoy he would have taken the tone of his voice to be appreciative.

Nervous, Harry laughed. "Your lesson plans for the year sounded good in the meeting," Harry admitted.

"Thank you," Draco said. "I didn't think you were listening. You seemed half asleep for the majority of the meeting."

"I was trying not to let my tummy rumble," Harry said. "Didn't work very well."

Draco began to laugh. It was a sound Harry had never heard before, but he found himself wanting to hear it again. "Your tummy?" Draco teased.

Harry went bright red. "Shut up," he muttered.

That only made Draco laugh more. A minute later he had managed to calm down. "I do apologise," he said, wiping the corner of one eye with his finger.

Harry smiled. "Don't worry."

Suddenly Draco stopped. Harry looked around and realised that they were at the enormous painting of the bowl of fruit. Draco stretched his arm out to tickle the pear, the painting swung open, revealing the kitchen.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You're welcome. I'll leave you to your meal then." Draco nodded once and turned around.

"Come and have some tea or something," Harry blurted out. "You can tell me which students are the ones to look out for."

Draco turned back around to face Harry and smiled gently. "All right. Although, I do have to tell you, you have to watch out for them all. It just happens to be that there are some that are just iawful/i. No worse than I ever was though." Draco shot Harry a conspiratorial wink and climbed through the portrait hole.

Harry followed him with a groan. "What have I let myself in for?"

: :

The first day of school found Harry sitting up at the Head Table having stuffed himself full of a delicious dinner of roast beef and all the trimmings, as well as a fantastic banoffee pie. The Sorting had gone reasonably well; Harry listened to the Song carefully, but thankfully it had no underlying messages this year, as it had so often when he was at school.

His introduction to the school had been nothing out of the ordinary either, Professor McGonagall had told the students his name and he had received a smattering of unenthusiastic applause. Draco leant over as the students had clapped and whispered, "Don't worry, I didn't get iany/i applause when I was first introduced."

Although Harry knew this shouldn't make him feel any better, it did. At least Malfoy knew what he meant, he thought. When Harry caught himself wishing that the students were a bit more receptive to having him as their teacher, he realised that that he would have to teach as Harry Potter rather than Sebastian Griffiths. That was definitely not what he wanted.

For the week that Harry had been at Hogwarts he had been intensely cramming in the library. Considering that Harry had lived in the Muggle world with very little need for any defence spells at all, he was quite impressed at what he remembered. Unfortunately, what he remembered was about enough to teach the first and second years. Finding that most of the theory came back to him after he had read it, Harry had settled into the library for a week of reading to get himself up to speed as fast as possible. Harry had not realised how much he'd missed using magic until he brought his wand back into regular use again.

The end of the meal soon came about and as the last few stragglers left the Great Hall, Harry stood up to leave.

"Sebastian," Draco said. He stood up and pushed his chair under the table. "One second, I'll walk with you." Draco walked over to McGonagall and said a few quiet words to her before he rejoined Harry.

"Sorry about that," Draco said as the two men left the Great Hall.

"Don't worry," Harry told him. He didn't really know what Draco was apologising for, but decided not to ask unnecessary questions.

"Have you got a class first thing in the morning?" Draco asked. The horse in the painting they just passed neighed loudly and galloped out of the painting.

"Amazingly no," Harry replied. "Not until second unit, thank God. I don't think anyone would mind going to work on a Monday if they got to lie in an extra hour."

Draco laughed. "That's very true."

"Although I have a class in the last unit of Friday which is almost as bad," Harry mused.

"Very true. Sebastian…" Draco said pausing. "Would you like a quick drink… just to ring in the new school year?"

"I…" Harry knew it was an awful idea. He wasn't here to make friends with anyone, he was here to fill a void and that was it. Under the radar was a phrase that he fully intended would be applied to his Professorship at Hogwarts, along with unassuming and unremarkable. Harry would be fully content with giving the students a good understanding of the basics on which their future Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons should be based. "Yes." As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He knew that once he started something was Draco it was going to be impossible to leave.

Draco smiled and continued to walk. "Good."

Harry and Draco walked down to the dungeons in friendly silence, until they reached a portrait. The two men stopped in front of the picture. The woman in the portrait was quite unattractive, there was a quality to her face which was just inot right/i.

"Sebastian," Draco sighed. "This is Professor Vanessa Tushingham. She was a Muggle Studies Professor from the early 19th century. I can't for the life of me figure out why she is my portrait, but that is neither here nor there. iTelegram/i."

The portrait swung open without a word.

"She isn't talking to me at the moment, the stubborn old bag," Draco told him as he walked into his rooms. "I can't imagine why." He grinned wickedly before he collapsed into the sofa in front of the fire.

Harry stood by the portrait hole awkwardly before Draco beckoned him over to sit down. There was a coffee table in front of the fire, which was blazing, heating up the entire room pleasantly. Draco pulled out his wand and summoned two glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky. He poured them both a glassful, then murmured a charm. Harry wasn't quite sure what it was, but it sounded familiar. He took his glass and took a sip. The alcohol burned down his throat and felt like an inferno was blazing in his stomach. The feeling disappeared a few seconds later.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"You're welcome," Draco said. He clinked his glass against Harry's and took a big gulp. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"That's a gorgeous painting," Harry said, gesturing at the large animated picture of Hogwarts above the fireplace.

"Thank you," Draco said with a smile. "I'm rather fond of it myself. I went to school with the artist actually."

"Really?" Harry blurted out. "Who is it by?"

"Dean Thomas," Draco Malfoy said. Harry was very aware that Draco hadn't taken his eyes off of him in quite a while, so he made sure his face showed very few unexpected emotions. After all why would Sebastian Griffiths be surprised at Malfoy having a painting by Dean Thomas?

"Well, it's lovely," Harry said lamely.

Draco nodded and smiled. "I never knew Thomas really. He was in the same year as me, but he was a Gryffindor so we automatically didn't get on. I didn't even know he was an artist 'til we left school."

"I take it you were a Slytherin then?" Harry asked with a grin.

"I was," Draco admitted, shaking his head ruefully.

"I see," Harry said carefully. "People change a lot once they leave school, you might get on if you met again now."

"Maybe," Draco replied. He stared at the picture for a while longer. Harry decided against speaking for a while, Draco looked very deep in thought.

Downing the rest of his drink, Harry thought it might be time to leave. Firewhisky was disgustingly strong and he was already feeling fuzzy around the edges. He glanced back at his glass. It was full again. A look of confusion overcame Harry's face.

"Refilling Charm," Draco said, reading the look on his face perfectly.

"Oh," Harry said. "I shouldn't drink too much… I'm starting to feel it already."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Dear me, Sebastian, I know third year Hufflepuff girls who could drink more Firewhisky than you."

Harry laughed and took a swig of his drink very deliberately. "Jus' a bit more then." He leant backwards into the couch, making himself comfortable.

The two men sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, sipping at their drinks every now and again. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off the painting above the fireplace. Seeing the entire castle there was difficult. There were places in the castle Harry had been unable to go back to, mainly the Astronomy Tower and the Room of Requirement. He couldn't imagine that Malfoy was exactly a frequent visitor up there either – too many memories. The picture was a frequent reminder as well. Harry couldn't stand it personally; he wanted to be able to forget what had happened. Maybe Malfoy wanted to remember. Maybe he ineeded/i to remember.

"Malfoy…" Harry said drunkly.

"Don't call me Malfoy," Draco said. "Draco. Malfoy is my father… don't need reminding of him thanks."

"Oh," Harry said. "Sorry…"

"S'OK," Draco told him. The fingers of his left hand were fiddling with some loose strands of fabric in between the cushions of the sofa. In his right hand he clutched a nearly empty glass of Firewhisky. "What?"

"What what?"

"You said my name."

"I can't remember," Harry laughed, taking a swig of his drink.

Draco laughed and slumped into the sofa a bit more. Harry laid his head down, and was suddenly very aware that his head was very close to Draco's.

"Hi," Harry said. His eyes flickered down to Draco's lips.

"Hi," Draco whispered back. His tongue slipped over his lips to moisten them. He moved his head forwards a fraction.

There was nothing Harry wanted more that second than to move his head forwards and capture those pink lips in a kiss. But he couldn't. The Firewhisky wasn't ruling his emotions and actions that much.

Harry sat up feeling a sharp pain in his chest when he saw a disappointed look on Draco's face appear momentarily before it was replaced with indifference.

"I should go," Harry slurred, feeling slightly awkward, and more than a little aroused.

"OK. Well… I'll see you tomorrow at lunch I should think. Do you know the way back to your rooms all right?"

"Yes," Harry said, smiling gently. "I do. Thank you. We'll have to do this again."

Draco's face brightened slightly. "Yes. We shall."

Harry stood and picked up his jumper from the floor. He didn't remember taking it off. It was rather hot in here though, with the fire still blazing.

"Bye, Draco."

"Good night, Sebastian."

Harry awoke the next morning with a thumping headache and the taste of Firewhisky still in the back of his throat. Glancing at the clock and noticing its early hour, he groaned, turned over, and fell straight back to sleep.

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"Sebastian!" Hooch said heartily as she sat down into the seat next to his at dinner that night. "How has your first day been?"

Harry swallowed his mouthful of spaghetti bolognaise and put down his knife and fork. "It's gone really well thanks. I've had three classes today, Second Year Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, Third Year Ravenclaw and Slytherin and then Seventh Year Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Hooch drew her breath in sympathetically. "Slytherin and Gryffindor together, I don't envy you."

"They were quite awful," Harry said in agreement. "Lots of sniping at each other, some name calling, the works. They drew the line at hexing though. This lot will be the last year to have been at Hogwarts during the war won't they?"

Hooch nodded. "They were the First Years that were here during the Battle of Hogwarts."

Harry nodded and took a bite of his spaghetti, and then he put a bit of salt on it.

"Do you fly?" Hooch asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"Oh," Harry said. "Yeah, I do. I was a Seeker at school. Haven't flown in a good few years now though."

"Well," Hooch said thoughtfully. "If you ever fancy a fly around, feel free. The school has brooms you can use if you don't have your own. In fact, I'm supervising some Second Years on Thursday evening if you want to join."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I may just do that. I might be able to get hold of a broom, but I'm not sure."

"Well, like I said, there are plenty to borrow. Not the fastest or newest brooms in the shed, but very reliable," she told him.

Harry nodded and the two of them ate their dinner, as they continued to discuss their first day's classes.

That Thursday evening, Harry found himself with a Nimbus 2001, the broom that he'd envied Draco when they were younger. After picking it out of the small selection left in the broom shed, Harry made his way down to the pitch.

A number of students were already airborne. A few more were standing on the sidelines speaking to Madam Hooch. Harry had never made it to any of these extra practises when he was in Hogwarts, Quidditch training had taken up a lot of his free time as it was when he was younger. He knew, though that Ron had been fond of the practises though, as were a lot of students that weren't picked for the House Quidditch teams.

"Hiya," Harry said as he approached Hooch. He suddenly found himself being peered at by four second years. They seemed awfully short.

"Professor Griffiths!" Hooch said heartily. "Glad you could make it!"

"Me too," Harry said with a grin. "I didn't realise there would be quite this many people around though, I don't want to look too bad in front of my students." The four second years giggled behind their hands, scurrying away at Hooch's glare.

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "Just take it easy to start with, you'll have no trouble at all."

Harry nodded and swung his leg over his broom. A glance at Hooch showed an encouraging smile on her face, and he pushed off from the ground lightly, eager to be airborne.

He let himself drift along the pitch, just a few feet above the ground before he pulled the broom up to go higher. Speeding up rapidly, he felt the wind in his hair, and a sense of freedom which he hadn't felt in many years. Harry pulled his broom in even closer to his chest and to get himself moving even faster. Before he knew it he was high in the air. He manoeuvred his broom until he was horizontal again, and hovered in the air, taking in the breathtaking scenery of the Scottish countryside.

Hogwarts was miles below him. Madam Hooch was a tiny little dot on the ground. None of the Second Years beneath him were anywhere near as high as he was.

Harry considered the broom he was riding. How would it handle a Wronski Feint? He lowered himself a few dozen feet and decided to give it a go. Lowering the front of his broom towards the ground, he tucked his feet in to the broom as much as he could and dropped.

The wind was strong, blowing his hair back, as well as his cheeks. His robes were billowing, and Harry could feel the gust through his years-old shoes. The ground was approaching fast and Harry knew he needed to pull the broom up quickly or he would crash. The only fault with the Nimbus was the braking he remembered. Pulling the front of the broom up, he felt himself slow down and slow down again until, three feet off the pitch, he stopped. Once his feet were firmly planted in the grass he grinned. Apparently riding a broom was like riding a bike; you never forgot.

Hooch rushed over to him as he dismounted. He smiled fondly at the broom in his hand. Not quite as good as his Firebolt; with that he could have pulled up a lot later and still not crashed. It was gathering dust in Ron and Hermione's loft at the moment.

"Sebastian! Are you OK?"

"Fine!" he said.

"That was quite a stunt!" she said, puffing her chest out.

Harry smiled shyly. "I wasn't sure if I could pull it off still. Like I said it's been a while."

"Never would have known," she told him. "Your flying reminds me of a student I taught, a good few years ago now."

"Oh?"

"Harry Potter. Magnificent flyer. Pulled off something very similar to your dive there the first time he got on a broom. Should have gone pro," she said, shaking her head as if mourning the magnificent loss that as for Quidditch.

"Oh," Harry said, very shocked. "Well… that's quite a compliment then."

"It is indeed," Hooch said, still looking rather sad. The two of them stood in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"Well," Harry shrugged. There was only thing he wanted to do at that moment and that was get as far away from the Quidditch Pitch as poss"I think that's enough for me for one day. Thanks for the broom."

"Any time Sebastian. Any time."

: :

"Sebastian!" A voice came at him from down the corridor. Harry turned around and saw Draco walking towards him in a hurry.

"Hi," Harry said, smiling. Draco slowed his footsteps down to a regular pace, and they began to walk together.

"I was wondering if you would like to supervise the Hogsmeade weekend with me on Saturday. Perhaps we could eat in The Three Broomsticks as well," Draco suggested.

"Oh," Harry said in surprise. "Yeah, sure. I've never supervised before." He put his hand through his hair.

Draco laughed. "Don't worry, it's not difficult. We basically have to round them up into the carriages, wander around the village until it's time to leave, then round them up again."

"Do we have to accompany them back as well?" Harry asked, wondering how they would get back to The Three Broomsticks.

"We do," Draco told him regretfully. "I thought we could fly back though, it would be quite quick."

"Oh," Harry said. "Sure. That sounds really good actually. I haven't been to Hogsmeade in years."

Draco looked at him oddly. "Of course," he said. "Well, if I don't see you before, we have to be down at the Entrance Hall at nine o'clock on Saturday morning."

Harry groaned, and said playfully, "You didn't tell me it was that early! I wouldn't have said yes."

Draco laughed. "I know what you mean. The time hasn't changed since I was here, but it didn't seem like such a loss of sleep when I was thirteen."

"Well, seeing as I get to enjoy your company all day, I can't pull out now, can I?"

Draco laughed again and blushed slightly. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "Yes. Well… I best be off. Detention to supervise and all that." With that he walked away swiftly, his hand still pulling at his collar. Harry wondered if it was a nervous habit, the castle wasn't at all hot in the castle. His mind flashed back to the almost kiss they had experienced a few weeks ago and he blushed as well, mirroring Draco subconsciously by pulling at his collar. Harry began to carried on to his previous destination – he had a meeting with Professor McGonagall – still pulling at his collar.

A sudden thought struck him as he realised what he was doing. Blushing, nervous habits… Harry suddenly felt like he was 15 again and pursuing Ginny Weasley. Unwilling to consider any similarities in the situations, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on his meeting with Professor McGonagall.

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"Morning," Harry said gruffly. His fingers clutched at a flask of coffee which he had managed to convince the House Elves to give him.

Draco laughed at the sight of him. "Not a morning person, are we?"

"No," Harry sniffed. "Not on the weekends anyway."

Nodding in amusement, Draco said, "Well, they're only one offs, you know that. Have you any shopping to do?"

Harry agreed. "A bit. Nothing particularly important though. Have you?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "I need to pop into the apothecary as well as the book store and perhaps Honeydukes as well."

Harry laughed. "Well, you've filled up most of our day, so it's a good job I don't have anything to do."

"Indeed," Draco said.

The students were beginning to trickle into the Entrance Hall. Draco sighed. "The cattle herding begins." He walked off, leaving Harry wondering what on earth to do. He followed Draco who began to gesture towards the front doors.

"Sebastian, would you accompany the students outside and put them into the carriages?"

"Of course," Harry said and he caught up to the students who were excitedly moving towards the doors.

Harry and Draco ended up in a carriage with three Fifth Years girls who were sitting opposite them, whispering behind their hands, and glancing at them every now and again and giggling. Draco spent the entire journey up there looking out the window, resolutely ignoring the students in the carriage. Harry sat awkwardly, trying not to listen to their conversation, but failing miserably.

Once they arrived at Hogsmeade, the three girls ran off quickly into the crowd of students who had already arrived.

"Sonorus," Draco said, pointing his wand at his throat. "You have until four o'clock. Please don't blow anything up, attack each other or throw up because you have eaten too many sweets. Despite that, please have fun."

Harry laughed as Draco removed the charm from his voice. Draco shrugged. "It's not like they listen to me anyway." With that, the two men headed into the town.

It turned out that there were no attacks on each other, and only one person was sick. Even that was just because they'd tried a Blood Pop instead of picking up a raspberry one.

"That was very successful," Draco declared later on as the two men finally took a seat in The Three Broomsticks.

Harry looked at him in disbelief. "If you count dragging me to every single shop in Hogsmeade a success, then I would have to say yes, it was."

Draco grinned wickedly. "Not a shopper. I'll have to remember that."

Harry was very tempted to ask why he would have to remember that, but he knew that was not the kind of conversation that they should be having that evening.

There was so much Harry wanted to ask Draco, but couldn't. What had happened to him after the Battle of Hogwarts? How had he ended up working in Hogwarts for the last three or four years? Why didn't he appear to have a life outside of the school?

"Whisky?" Draco asked him.

Harry looked up and saw Hannah Abbot standing at their table, parchment and quill in her hand.

"Oh," Harry said. "Yes, thank you."

"I'll have the Shepherd's Pie for dinner, please," Draco said politely.

"Err…" Harry skimmed the menu quickly. "I'll have the lasagne thanks."

They handed the menus back to Hannah.

"She was in my year at school," Draco said.

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"Hufflepuff. Never really knew her though, I was a rather bigoted child," Draco laugh had a bitter edge to it.

Harry said nothing. He didn't know what to say. As Harry or as Sebastian. He settled for an uncomfortable look on his face which he hoped Draco wouldn't recognise.

"Sorry," Draco said, sighing. "I don't know how much you know about my involvement in the war."

"I know some," Harry answered truthfully. He didn't know Draco Malfoy very well after all. For all he knew, there could be a lot more to it than he knew about at the moment. Harry highly suspected that there was, and that he had been very wrong in what he had previously assumed. As Hermione had once told him, with a blush, when you assume you make an ass of you and me.

"Which school did you attend?" Draco asked abruptly.

"I was home-schooled," Harry answered. He was very surprised Draco hadn't brought this topic up before, he'd had it with the majority of the other teachers in the school, as well as a number of students. "I lived in a Wizarding town in Ireland – I doubt you will have heard of it - and there were a number of children my age who remained there."

"Oh," Draco said. "You would have been in the same school year as me wouldn't you?"

"I believe so," Harry replied. Hannah arrived over with their drinks and set them down on the table. Draco touched her arm briefly.

"Bring the bottle if you would," he asked. Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and when her eyes flickered to him he nodded warily. She bustled off to deal with their request and Harry turned back to Draco.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Draco replied automatically. "Absolutely fine." He swirled his drink around in the glass. The ice cubes hit against the sides of the glass and the amber liquid splashed up against the tips of Draco's fingers. He drank it in one.

"Right," Harry said. "If you insist."

The two men sat in silence for a while.

"There's something about you," Draco said out of the blue. "Something familiar, yet so abstract. I can't place you at all, but I feel like I could say anything to you."

His eyes were focused so intensely on Harry he thought he might begin to sweat. Silver eyes sought out Harry's own brown ones. There was a look of longing in those eyes which Harry could relate to desperately.

Harry stared into his glass. "You can."

The bottle of whisky was put down in the middle of the table, and Draco murmured his thanks. Picking up the bottle, he filled both glasses to the rim, before setting it back on the table as if it was priceless, and the most important thing he had ever had in his possession.

"I haven't drunk enough for that," Draco decided.

Seconds later their dinner arrived, and the two men tucked in ravenously. There had not been much time to pick up any lunch that day, and Harry had barely made it to the Entrance Hall for nine, never mind eat breakfast as well. They made small talk about their respective classes whilst they ate. Harry was astounded by the passion Draco displayed for his job; it was clearly his calling. Slowly, Harry was beginning to develop a love for teaching as well, although he doubted that his passion for the job would ever reach the heights which Draco's had.

Soon enough, their meals were finished and Harry and Draco were left alone with a bottle of whisky. Draco was close to having drunk nearly a third of the bottle and Harry wasn't very far behind.

"Do you have many regrets?" Draco asked.

"Of course," Harry answered. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Yes," Draco said thoughtfully.

"I regret a lot of things, but then I think about how my life would be if they hadn't happened. I like my life at the moment and wouldn't want to change it. So I guess at the same time, I don't regret anything." It was the first time Harry had admitted to himself in a long while that he was happy.

"I regret nearly my entire life. How awful is that?" Draco asked rhetorically. He downed his drink and refilled the glass. Harry did the same. "Everything up to the Battle of Hogwarts really. Ever since then I've been… I don't know."

"Trying to atone for your sins?" Harry filled in.

"Yes," Draco said. "Yes."

Harry sat quietly for a moment. "You were a child, Draco. No one should put the fate of the world on the shoulders of a child. You made the right choice in the end didn't you? You did the right thing when it came down to it. You're too harsh on yourself," Harry replied quietly, truthfully.

"Harry Potter managed it," Draco said. "He always did the right thing."

"He didn't," Harry blurted out. "Not at all. He always insists it was luck, doesn't he? And he didn't have quite the same family pressures as you do."

"Did," Draco said. "Past tense. Both gone now. Father was killed in Azkaban, and Mother… well she died of grief I think."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I did my best to keep it out of the papers. The Malfoy name apparently still has a certain degree of credibility. Or perhaps they thought I'd kill them. Either way, it was for the best."

Harry didn't doubt that for one minute. He knew all too well the pitfalls of publicity, and he could imagine it was nearly as bad for Draco at times as it was for him.

"Do you have a girlfriend waiting for you at home?" Draco asked, looking up at Harry slyly from underneath his fringe.

"No," Harry replied, slightly confused. Maybe he had read the entire situation with Draco wrong from the beginning. He was just glad he hadn't managed to make too much of a tit of himself. "Do you?"

"No," Draco answered him before taking a swig of his drink. "I've never felt the attraction."

"To what?" Harry asked, trying to mask the hope in his voice.

"Women," Draco answered.

"I see," Harry said carefully, trying not to sound excited.

"Is that a problem?" Draco asked quietly, seriously.

"No," Harry said quickly. Too quickly. "That would be slightly hypocritical of me."

Draco smirked in triumph. "Slightly?"

"Not entirely sure I'm completely gay," Harry answered with complete honesty.

"Ahh," Draco said, nodding in understanding.

"How about…" Harry hesitated, feeling awkward.

"Completely and definitely," Draco answered. The fire in his eyes mesmerised Harry.

Harry nodded, his gaze not leaving Draco's. "Good for you."

"Very good for me in fact," Draco said salaciously.

Blushing, Harry ducked his head and took his drink in his hand draining the glass. Draco filled it up to the rim. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" Harry murmured.

"Trying?" Draco drawled. "You already are. And… so what if I am?"

Harry laughed and blushed an even deeper shade of rose. "Not a good idea…" he said honestly.

"When is it ever a good idea?" Draco asked. "How will you know when it's a good idea if you never take a chance?"

Harry shrugged, feeling quite uncomfortable. Draco wanted him. He wanted Draco. Draco wanted Sebastian not Harry Potter. In fact if Draco knew who he really was, Harry was fairly certain he would have been hexed to hell and back by now.

But it would just be one night wouldn't it? Draco would never have to know. And in all honesty, Harry had been himself as much as he possibly could around Draco. There were a few necessary lies to keep him from guessing, but everything else was real.

"I'm gonna get the bill," Harry told Draco as he stood up. He saw Draco's eyes darken as they dilated.

Harry paid for their dinner blindly, not noticing the price, concentrating on not tripping over his own feet as he walked towards the door.

"Come on," Harry said as he passed their table. Draco followed, hand clutching at the bottle of whisky they had not yet finished. Overhead Harry could see that a storm was brewing. It wasn't particularly late, not yet midnight, but the sky was pitch black. The only illumination came from a few street lamps.

"Can't fly back," Harry decided. "We'll fly into the Whomping Willow!" He giggled a bit at his own joke. After three tries he managed to shrink the brooms and he placed them in his pocket safely.

Draco was meandering down the street slowly to let Harry catch up after he had finished fiddling with the brooms.

The walk back took them over an hour, including one detour into the edge of the Forbidden Forest to relieve themselves, and one incident where both of them managed to fall over their own feet and pull each other down with them.

Eventually they arrived back at the castle and walked though the corridors, the portraits all tutting in disapproval at their drunken states. Harry kept Draco from hexing any of the portraits, but did watch one shouting match in amusement until Harry thought he heard Peeves and they ran away swiftly.

Out of breath, they arrived outside Draco's rooms. The portrait of Professor Vanessa Tushingham was sleeping, so the two men avoided any more comments for the time being.

"I've 'ad a great night, thanks, Draco," Harry said with a huge grin.

Draco smirked. "Me too, Sebastian. Me too." He took a step towards Harry who somehow found himself up against the cold stone wall.

"Fuck," Harry muttered.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Slightly premature, aren't we, Sebastian?"

Sebastian. The name echoed through Harry's mind.

Draco's face was inches away from Harry's, and suddenly all Harry could think about was how gorgeous his eyes were.

However, Draco's eyes were not on Harry's. They watching Harry's pink tongue which was licking Harry's lips to moisten them. A surge of adrenaline and arousal (and possibly alcohol) had Harry moving his hands to Draco's waist and pulling the other man tight against his body. Harry's fingers fiddled with the hem of Draco's shirt – where had Draco's robe gone? – and then he placed his hands on the cool, pale back underneath.

Draco groaned, and finally, finally, placed his lips on Harry's, his hands flying up to grasp at his face. As Draco slipped his tongue between Harry's lips, Harry realised he was experiencing one of ithose/i kisses. The mythical kisses that teenage girls spoke about in hushed whispers, the ones that made your knees weak and your head dizzy.

Harry tried to draw Draco even closer to his body as he possibly could, fully aware that the other man would be able to feel his erection on his thigh, and confident this wouldn't be a problem though, since Draco's own cock was throbbing a tattoo against Harry's thigh.

Draco moaned into Harry's mouth and the vibrations in his mouth sent Harry wild. He held onto Draco's hips firmly before he spun them both around, so Draco's back was now against the wall and Harry was fully in control.

Pulling his mouth away from Draco's, Harry was spurred on by the sound of frustration that left Draco's lips. He licked his way down one side of Draco's pale, slender neck then placed open mouth kisses over as much flesh of Draco's neck as he possibly could. Soon, he came across a spot on Draco's neck where he could feel the blood pumping quickly. Placing his lips against the tender spot, he kissed it gently as Draco let out a moan of pleasure. Grinding his aching cock against Draco, Harry pulled the other man closer.

"Sebastian.." Draco whined.

The sound of his 'name' stopped Harry cold and he panicked. Pulling himself away from Draco, he ignored the hurt look on Draco's face and looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said, mortified, and then took off at a run to the safety of his own rooms.

"Arsehole!" Draco yelled at his retreating back angrily.

Harry didn't look back once.

: :

Harry didn't speak to Draco again until two weeks before Christmas. Having regained possession of the Marauders Map from Hermione who he had given it to as she was the only one of them who had returned to Hogwarts, he became very proficient at eluding Draco.

Sat in the library, doing some research so he could begin to plan his Seventh Year's lesson plans for the next term, he was suddenly found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy in the carrel between the Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions sections.

"Fuck," Harry said as he saw Draco.

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow, snorted and turned away.

"Draco!" Harry said quickly, following the man who was weaving in and out of the bookcases.

Draco spun around, his robes billowing. "What, Professor Griffiths? How may I help you?" He looked Harry up and down, and Harry felt about an inch tall.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Harry blurted out. "I really am. I just… can't."

"And what exactly makes you think I should accept your apology?" Draco sneered.

"Because I love spending time with you," Harry admitted. "I just don't think it should be anything more. We're colleagues… it's not professional."

"I don't believe you," Draco said bluntly. "But I'll think about it." With that Draco walked away and Harry knew that that was the best he could hope for in the circumstances.

: :

A week or so after Christmas, Harry groaned in frustration as he did his best to make his way through a two foot high stack of Third Year Essays on Boggarts. They were, for the most part, completely awful. None of them had done iany/i work over the holidays.

A knock at the door interrupted him.

"Come in," Harry shouted.

The door opened, revealing Draco and a large bag. "We're not going to mention that weekend. Ever. Enlarge your desk, I'm marking as well."

Stunned, Harry did as he was told.

"Draco…"

"Shut up. What are you marking?"

"Third Year Boggart essays," Harry said miserably. Draco pulled out his own stack as well as a very flamboyant quill and an inkwell. "You?"

"Seventh Year Felix Felicis essays," Draco smirked. "They won't be bad at all, they all want to be there after all."

Harry snorted. "I don't know about that. I did a NEWT in Potions and I despised it."

"Oh?" Draco said, looking up. "How did you do?"

"I never finished it," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"I didn't finish any in the end, I went straight into the Aurors," Harry answered honestly. He was quite pleased he had finally found a topic he could be honest about.

"How did you get in the Aurors with no NEWTS?" Draco asked incredulously. "It's ridiculously competitive."

Fuck, Harry thought. Fuck fuckitty fuck.

"Err… I did a training course from America that got me in. It was … err … more suited to me,. More… err… practical. It's a long story," he said hurriedly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm quickly coming to learn, Sebastian, that most things with you are a long, unexplained story."

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

Draco shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll find out eventually." The evil glimmer in his eyes scared Harry a bit.

"If you say so," Harry muttered and then he went back to his marking. He was quite proud of himself. He only got distracted by Draco's presence seventeen times in a two hour period. Much better than normal.

As Draco left Harry's office after their marking was done, he turned around in the doorway.

"Would you like to go flying tomorrow evening?"

"Oh," Harry said. "Yes. I have a detention until eight o'clock, so I can meet you at the Entrance Hall at quarter past if that's ok?"

Draco nodded and moved his heavy bag to the other hand. "That's fine. See you then then."

Harry walked down to the Entrance Hall the next day with the brooms in his pocket from their evening out the week before. He had never returned them, and had forgotten about them until he had put his robe on that evening.

Draco was waiting for him when he arrived. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "Am I late?"

"No," Draco said lazily. "I'm a bit early."

"Oh," Harry said. "OK then. I still have the brooms from the other night so we don't have to collect any."

Draco raised an eyebrow and nodded. Harry knew he was thinking about that disaster of an evening as well, and wondered if it was on his mind as often as it was Harry's. When he awoke alone, when he touched himself at night, every time Harry saw someone with blond hair….

The two men spent a very enjoyable couple of hours flying before they retreated to the castle, and found themselves in a very familiar situation. The portrait outside Draco's rooms was eyeing them suspiciously as they came around the corner.

"Thanks, Draco," Harry said, "I needed a good fly."

"Don't worry about it," Draco drawled. "You're good competition. Don't get that round here very often. You have a familiar style."

Harry laughed nervously, shrugging it off. "No, I suppose not," he agreed. He doubted that Madam Hooch was one for one on ones with other teachers. Ignoring the familiarity comment was for the best, he decided.

"Well I should probably go," Draco said, sounding rather annoyed that he didn't have an excuse to stay.

"Yeah," Harry said miserably. Neither man moved for a couple of minutes.

Draco eyed him up. "I'm going to kiss you. Stop me now if you're going to."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm not going to stop you."

Draco's eyes gleamed. "Good boy."

Draco backed Harry up against the wall, pinning his hips to the wall with his hands. Without any preamble, Draco pressed his lips to Harry's, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Harry groaned at the intimate touch, finally allowing himself to give into Draco's touch, just this once.

It could have been five minutes or an hour, Harry was unsure, before he pulled away. "Why do we do this in corridors when we have rooms?"

Draco smirked. "Good question. Shall we?"

Harry took a deep breath and was about to answer when a loud bang and a shout interrupted him.

The two men looked at each other. When a scream followed, they took off at a run in the direction of the noises. The commotion became louder and rowdier as they approached and Harry went to pull his wand out of his pocket.

It all happened too quickly after that. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was Draco pointing his wand at him yelling "Stasis!" and pain. A lot of pain, and his wand snapping as he fell, hard.

: :

Sitting at the side of Sebastian's bed, Draco hadn't let go of his hand in hours. Thanks to his Stasis charm, Sebastian was going to be completely fine, apart from the continuous piss-taking he was going to receive. Who ever heard of a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor blowing off half his thigh because he'd stuck his wand in his pocket rather than in a holster. Sebastian hadn't even had the safety on! It was a barely taught habit anymore, but Draco was going to make sure both of them followed it now.

After he cast the charm on Sebastian, the unconscious man levitated in a sphere of light while Draco had wrapped up the fight. Having been slightly flustered by all the blood which had already leaked from Sebastian's wound, he had decided on the rather unorthodox procedure of casting a Body Bind on the fighters. He knew he'd get told off by Professor McGonagall later on but making sure Sebastian didn't lose too much more blood had been on the top of his list of priorities.

Sebastian groaned in his sleep and a crinkle appeared above Draco's nose as he frowned. Where was the Mediwitch, Sebastian shouldn't be in pain.

Draco rubbed his thumb over the Sebastian's palm, and the other man seemed to calm down slightly. He wished more than anything that Sebastian would just open his big brown eyes and smile at him softly, in the appealing way that was entirely ihim/i.

The door opened behind him and Professor McGonagall came through the door. Draco pulled his hand away from Sebastian quickly and stood up to face her.

"Minerva," Draco greeted her politely.

"Good morning, Draco," Professor McGonagall said. "Would you mind if I had a word with you outside for a minute?"

"Of course not," Draco said. He had been expecting this for a while. He threw one last look at Sebastian, who was sleeping soundly, before he left the room with Professor McGonagall.

The two Professors conversed for a few minutes as they arranged a meeting that afternoon to discuss the incident in more depth. Professor McGonagall hoped that Sebastian would be awake then as well, and would be able to attend the meeting. It wasn't strictly necessary however as Sebastian had obviously not seen the fight at all.

Leaving Professor McGonagall, Draco went back into Sebastian's tiny room. Except the man in the bed wasn't Sebastian Griffiths anymore. It was Harry Potter, scar and all.

Unable to articulate any words, any emotions, Draco turned around and left the room. He didn't look back.

: :

Harry awoke an hour later. His head was pounding, and his thigh was killing him. Opening his eyes, he could see he was in the hospital wing. He'd never been allowed a private room before though. It was quite nice. Swinging his legs around, and putting his feet on the floor, he slowly tried to put some pressure on his injured leg. It ached quite a bit, but wasn't awful so he stood up fully.

He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror on the wall. Black hair, green eyes and scar were all visible. Fuck. Looking around he saw his wand in pieces on his bedside table. Double fuck.

Sitting down heavily on his bed, Harry prayed that the next person to come in the door was Professor McGonagall. Nobody else knew. In hindsight, Harry thought it may have been a good idea to tell the Mediwitch at Hogwarts, who was currently Samiah Brougham. Harry hadn't been expecting to hurt himself quite like this though. What exactly had happened, he wondered.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" Harry shouted, cringing.

"Madam Brougham," the witch answered.

Fuck. "Could I speak to Professor McGonagall before you come in? Please," Harry begged.

There was a pause. Madam Brougham sounded very put out. "I suppose. Why?"

"It's personal," Harry said, hating what he was doing.

"Well," she said. "I suppose. You do sound all right, and you are an adult. I will ask her to come down when she can. Do you need anything?"

"No," Harry said. "I'm OK. Thank you."

Harry heard footsteps walking away and he collapsed on his bed, hiding his head with his hand. Soon enough, he drifted off to sleep again.

"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said. Harry's eyes flew open and he sat up quickly.

"Professor," Harry said. "My wand… I can't do my Glamour."

She nodded. "I realised that few hours ago. I have managed to procure a temporary wand for you, although you will of course have obtain a new one as soon as you can. The Glamour may not be as good you do realise."

"I'll do it more often," Harry decided.

"And do please try and get hold of a holster, Harry. It is a slight embarrassment that our Defence Professor blew off part of his leg," Professor McGonagall said, peering at him over her glasses.

Harry blushed, feeling like a twelve year old boy getting a detention.

"Sorry Professor," Harry said.

"I have a meeting with Draco later," Professor McGonagall told him.

"Oh," Harry said with a smile. "I think I'm going to go down in a bit if Madam Brougham will let me out. I should apologise for being careless," he said sheepishly.

"Perhaps," Professor McGonagall said with a nod. "Well, you are welcome to join us at our meeting. Draco can give you the details."

Harry nodded. "OK, thank you. I better re-cast my Glamour before she comes looking for me."

"You should," she agreed. "Good bye for now, Harry."

"Bye," Harry echoed before he picked up the wand. It felt wrong. Very wrong. He couldn't believe that his own wand had survived an entire war and he had ended up breaking it while blowing off half his thigh. Typical, he thought. Briefly, he wished he was still in possession of the Elder Wand so he could repair it once again. He dismissed the idea immediately, it was an awful idea.

Sighing, he cast the spell over himself. As soon as he was finished, he knew it was not as strong as the last one, and would probably barely last half the time. First chance he got, he decided, he would go to Diagon Alley.

An hour later, Harry was pronounced nearly fully healthy by Madam Brougham. He was handed some potions of a purple colour, and with that he left the Hospital Wing and headed down to see Draco.

: :

Knock, knock, knock.

Professor Vanessa Tushingham curled her lip, looking at him with evident disapproval. "What did you do? He's in an awful mood."

"Oh," Harry said. His stomach sank with disappointment. He could only hope that Draco was worried about him.

She sighed. "I'm to let you in apparently." The portrait swung out, and Harry clambered through inside. The portrait thudded shut behind him.

Draco was stood in front of the fireplace, his arms folded, and a scowl distorting his usually attractive face.

"Hello, Potter," Draco said and at his words, Harry died a little inside.

"I'm so sorry," Harry apologised. Harry suddenly noticed that Draco was holding his wand.

"Don't talk," Draco snarled. "You aren't sorry. You let me start to feel something for you, not even you! Him. A fucking figment of your twisted imagination!"

"No, Draco, I tried to stop anything happening, you know that, but I couldn't, I couldn't. I was falling for you, Draco," Harry pleaded.

"Oh shut up. You're pathetic," Draco sneered. "You should have kept yourself to yourself if you're too much of a pussy to ibe/i yourself. It's bad enough that you're disguised, but to come along and engage me, me! In friendship…"

"I know, Draco, I know…"

"Stop saying my name, Potter. Take the bloody Glamour off, or whatever it is you're hiding behind, I want to have this fight with Harry Potter not that," Draco made a dismissive gesture, "twat," Draco said harshly.

Harry pulled out the wand he was using and wordlessly removed the charm. He felt the features of his face begin to morph back to his own.

The expression on Draco's face didn't change at all.

"Still a scrawny, short tosser then I see," Draco said carelessly.

A sharp pain bit through Harry's chest. "Draco…"

"Potter," Draco said. He took a step forwards and Harry clutched his wand protectively. Draco noticed. "Put that wand down."

"Why?" Harry asked. "If you're going to hex me, go ahead and do it, I deserve it. If you're going to punch me, fine. Just do it Malfoy. Or are you scared?"

"Scared? Oh, you don't know the meaning of the word, Potter," Malfoy said maliciously.

Harry laughed harshly, and took a step towards Draco. "I think you might have forgotten who you're talking to."

"Well, you only have yourself to blame for this, don't you, Potter?" Draco said smoothly. "All this hiding behind different faces, who can blame a man for getting confused?"

"Drop your wand Potter, and I'll drop mine. I want to feel your nose crack beneath my fist," Draco sneered maliciously.

Time seemed to freeze as the two men stared at each other before Harry let go of his wand and it clattered to the floor. Draco's followed a second later.

Harry just glared at him. "Come on, Malfoy. Hit me."

The look in Draco's eyes wavered slightly, but before Harry knew it, Draco's fist was colliding with his skull. Automatically, Harry's hand clenched into a fist, and he aimed his punch at Draco's stomach. The punch left Draco momentarily breathless before Harry became very aware of Draco punching him again and again, blows landing on his chest, shoulders and one very painful on his stomach.

Harry pounced on Draco, knocking him to the floor. He clambered on top of him, sitting on his hips, pinning him to the down. Draco twisted beneath him furiously, breathing heavily, his chest heaving. Adrenaline was pumping all round Harry's body, fuelling him to enable him to keep Draco on the floor.

Draco's arms swung at Harry's face, and whatever else he could get his hands on. He landed another blow on Harry's jaw.

Then Harry managed to trap Draco's hands above his head. And, in the sudden, strange calm, he knew. "You're hard, Draco," Harry said in wonderment.

Draco howled with rage and bucked up. "Get the fuck off me, Potter. Please, get off. Just leave me alone…" When he stopped struggling, and Harry let go of his hands in shock. Draco immediately threw Harry off and rolled away, covering his eyes with his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Draco, you don't even understand. I want you so much, but I want you to want me, not fucking Sebastian," Harry raged, angry beyond belief at what he had done to Draco. He was still hard, uncomfortably tight against his trousers. Trying to ignore the blood pumping in his nether regions, Harry concentrated on Draco's covered up face.

"I don't know… I need some time, Harry," Draco said from underneath his arms. Harry's heart leapt in his chest at the sound of his first name from Draco's lips. There was some hope.

Tempted to push Draco so he could get what they both clearly wanted, Harry forced himself to give Draco what he needed. "That's all I can ask for. And take as much time as you need."

When Harry got up, Draco immediately stood, and turned away from him. Harry sure the other man was wiping his eyes, just as he was, but he decided to tactfully ignore it.

"You know where I am when you're ready, Draco," Harry offered. He could feel a black eye blossoming. Another visit to the Hospital Wing, he thought.

"Goodbye, Potter," Draco said dully. He still hadn't turned around.

"Bye," Harry whispered, and he left Draco's rooms. He just hoped it wasn't forever.

: :

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

Harry shook his head in despair. "I know, Hermione, I know…"

A minute of silence lapsed. "What are you going to do, Harry?" she asked him.

"I have no idea," he groaned sadly.

Hermione's head sat in the grate for a couple of minutes as she bit her lip and began to think. "You need to show him you care about him without pissing him off," she told him thoughtfully.

"OK," Harry said. "How do I do that?"

Hermione tutted. "Use your imagination, Harry. Try being iromantic/i."

Harry laughed. "This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about here. I don't think he does romantic to be honest. I think he would sooner be laughing in my face than accept a bunch of flowers."

Hermione frowned at him. "That's not the only way to be romantic, Harry. Flowers and chocolates… they're so generic. Be personal. Appeal to the Draco Malfoy that you've got to know. If it was Ron, you'd know that Chudley Cannon tickets would have him professing his love for you. What is Draco's Chudley Cannons?"

Sighing, Harry said, "OK. I get you. I can't think of anything though…"

"Don't be silly," she admonished. "Of course you can. You've just spent half an hour telling me you're in love with this man, you need to know someone as intimately as that to be in love with them."

"I didn't say I was iin love/i with him," Harry said weakly.

"You may as well have," Hermione said dismissively.

Harry groaned. "Oh, God. Well… potions?"

"That's his day job, Harry," Hermione said. "You wouldn't consider a Dark Arts book romantic, would you?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"What is he passionate about?" Hermione asked. "What's the one thing in the world he would do if it was his last day on earth? What would he save from Fiendfyre?"

The two of them sat in silence for a couple more minutes before Harry said out of the blue, "Hermione… are you still in contact with Dean Thomas?"

: :

It had taken a lot of persuading on Harry's behalf (as well as an awful lot of explaining and a promise of a pint with Seamus and Dean) to get Dean to agree to his request.

The talk with Hermione had given him an idea; to have Dean paint a portrait and then animate it, of Draco. Harry remembered vividly that night in Draco's rooms as the two of them had looked at Dean's painting of Hogwarts. Draco had displayed a clear love of the painting, and indeed the artist. Dean had confided in Harry that the painting that Draco had proudly displayed in his rooms had cost a considerable sum of money and it was a favourite of Dean's as well.

The only problem they had come across was Dean getting close enough to Draco to be able to take a few photos. Apparently, Dean had done a couple of secret portraits before, and photographs were the best way to do a painting. Luckily, Hermione had come up with an idea, one so glaringly simple; Harry was slightly embarrassed he hadn't thought of it. His invisibility cloak. Harry had given it to Ron and Hermione to look after when he had moved away, and they had kept it safe for him along with his Firebolt and a few other treasured magical items which would be unsuitable in a Muggle home.

Safely ensconced in Harry's invisibility cloak, Dean had found Draco sitting alone in his classroom, grading papers. The door was open marginally when he got there, and he slipped in the room, only disturbing the door slightly.

"Fucking ghosts," Draco muttered, looking up at the sound of the door opening.

Dean stood directly in front of Draco, clutching his magically enhanced camera. The camera had a plethora of charms on, to silence the noise and to make the flash invisible. For the next twenty minutes, Dean took a variety of pictures from all angles of Draco before he disappeared out of the room, undetected. Once again, the method had worked perfectly.

Harry had insisted that Dean work as fast as he could, offering to pay extra for the speed. Dean looked like he wanted to protest at Harry's offer of payment, but he hadn't. Spending six years in the same dorm had clued Dean into the fact that Harry hated the fame that came along with being the Boy Who Lived. That included any freebies anyone tried to hand him as well. Harry was unspeakably grateful that Dean was doing the picture so quickly for him anyway, he couldn't have accepted a free painting. Especially not a Dean Thomas original.

It was two weeks after Draco and Harry had fought and they had not spoken since. Harry occasionally saw Draco looking at him and had offered him a shy smile, only to have Draco look away.

Harry hoped to Merlin that it was only a matter of time before Draco came to speak to him. If not to forgive him, at least to give him closure.

An unfamiliar owl flew down to Harry at the breakfast table, and he took the letter in excitement. The writing on the front clued him into the fact that it was from Dean, and the painting inside was his portrait of Draco, shrunk.

The day seemed to pass unbelievably slowly after that, he barely got a minute to himself. Harry had a full day of classes before he could get any time to look at the painting. Once he got to his rooms, he threw his bag on the floor, and pulled the letter out of his voluminous robes. He pulled the letter out of the envelope and found the painting in between the folds. Placing it carefully on the coffee table he pulled out his new wand (Elder wood, eleven inches, unicorn hair).

"Finite incantatem," Harry said, pointing his wand directly at the painting. It grew in size massively, covering his small coffee table.

The painting took Harry's breath away. It was igorgeous/i. Dean had painted Draco outside in the grounds, sitting against the trunk of an enormous oak. He was wearing a dark grey pair of trousers with a pale blue jumper over a white shirt. The expression on Draco's face was mesmerising though. He looked so happy and unbelievably at peace, that when portrait-Draco smiled at him, it almost made Harry choke up. It was perfect, and he knew exactly the way to give it to Draco.

"Winky!" Harry called.

Harry managed to convince Winky to take the portrait down to Draco's rooms at dinner time, when he knew Draco would not be there. Conjuring a solid, dark wood frame Harry carefully attached the painting with a Permanent Sticking Charm. He attached a note to the painting using a temporary version of the spell.

He fussed over the note for a long time, wondering whether to gush out all his feelings onto paper, or to just go with a simple note. Considering Harry had enough trouble articulating his emotions out loud, he decided against the former and decided upon:

_'I'm sorry._

_Please forgive me._

_Harry x x'_

Once the painting was gone, there was nothing more he could do. Harry was unable to eat a bite at dinner time. His stomach was in knots as he thought of all the possible outcomes to his gift. After only a few minutes he could not stand the tension and he left the Great Hall to return to his rooms. Harry couldn't sit four feet away from Draco without looking at the other man and giving himself away. Leaving was the only option.

Back at his rooms, Harry flung himself face down onto his sofa. He lay on the sofa for what seemed like an infinite number of minutes before he dropped off to sleep, unbelievably eager for the peace that slumber would bring him.

A knock at the door roused Harry from his sleep. His heart was in his mouth as he made his way over to the door and wrenched it open.

Draco was stood there, looking gorgeous as ever, and Harry was fairly sure that his heart broke a tiny bit as he considered the fact that Draco might not forgive him.

"Take off the Glamour, Harry," Draco purred.

Harry swallowed and pulled his wand out of the holster to take off the charm. He was Harry Potter again.

Draco took a few steps forwards, towards Harry. The door shut behind him silently.

Reaching forwards, Draco took hold of the end of Harry's tie and pulled the other man towards him.

"You're forgiven," Draco said simply and drew Harry into a breathtaking kiss. Harry groaned in relief and arousal, and buried his hands in Draco's hair. Draco's tongue drove ferociously into Harry's mouth, dipping and plundering, claiming.

Harry ran his hands up and down Draco's body mindlessly. Draco made him iache/i desperately. Reaching for the buttons on Draco's shirt, Harry's fingers fumbled over them in his rush.

Draco pulled away. "Calm down," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Harry nodded shakily and took a deep breath. At this rate he was going to come in his trousers before he'd managed to get Draco's shirt off. There was not a chance that was going to happen. This was going to be the best shag Draco had ever had.

Harry's hands once more went for the buttons of Draco's shirt, but this time they were not shaking. His pep talk had done him some good. He deftly worked his fingers over all of the buttons, making sure to keep his other hand running up and down Draco's back, lightly ghosting over his arse.

Harry pushed the shirt off Draco's pale shoulders and it pooled at their feet. Running his eyes up and down Draco's chest, Harry had to take another deep breath. He was iperfect/i. Muscles adorned the smooth pale chest. Harry's hands ran over Draco's biceps and down his front. Harry made sure to tweak at Draco's nipples as he did so before he came to a gorgeous patch of hair that Harry knew would lead to Draco's cock.

Draco took Harry's chin in his hand and looked in his eyes before he laid a delicate chaste kiss on Harry's lips.

Harry's breathing all of a sudden became very heavy and he pulled Draco in towards him, afterwards, Harry collapsed on top of Draco before rolling off to the side, breathing hard.

Draco began to chuckle lightly. "Fucking hell, Harry… if I'd known you were that good I'd have forgiven you sooner."

Harry grinned, still catching his breath. "Err… thanks," he said, slightly embarrassed. He yawned widely, and as if yawns were contagious, Draco followed seconds later.

"''m gonna have a nap," Harry said sleepily, burying into the bed.

Draco yawned again. "''k. Me too, if that's all right…"

However, he got no answer as Harry was fast asleep.

: :

In a flurry of conversations the following day, Harry and Draco came to some conclusions about what they wanted from each other.

Draco didn't want their relationship to be a secret from anybody. He wasn't particularly keen on the press being involved, as was inevitable if they were to tell people about their relationship. However, Draco was in love with teaching as much as was Harry, and Harry knew that nothing would drag him away. But oddly, Harry found himself not caring. He loved his job as well, and was considering staying on past a year.

They eventually decided upon Harry finishing this school year as Sebastian, before in September, Harry Potter would take his place. No one would ever know that they were the same person.

Unfortunately, as Draco had to tell Harry, this would put an end to the students' running bet on a relationship between Draco and Sebastian. Apparently a Slytherin Sixth Year had bet i a lot/i of money on them getting together before summer and lasting over the summer.

Harry was fairly certain that the only place in the Wizarding World that he was safe from reporters was Hogwarts; the security had been tightened so much since the Battle of Hogwarts it was practically a fortress. Even when Harry was at Hogwarts and Sebastian was gone, they were going to keep their relationship discreet. Professors had been involved before without it causing any controversy, Harry hoped that eventually, if they were quiet enough, the same could be said about him and Draco.

And even if they couldn't remain discreet, Harry knew that this time he would be able to take the press. This time he had Draco by his side.

**_'Love is friendship set on fire.'_**_  
Jeremy Irons_


End file.
